Minesweeper
by Kes Cross
Summary: A simple computer game becomes far more deadly as Don, Colby and the team have just 24 hours to stop 20 bombs causing carnage on the streets of LA. But the bomber has a personal reason for picking Don, and the team have to stop him before it's too late...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer & Author's Note:

Okay, so this is an idea I've had kicking around for a little while. For those following A Dangerous Game, don't worry, there will be an update on that story soon, that's a promise. I want to ensure that the standard matches that which has gone before, hence the delay in ending the hiatus (so I've got two stories running. So sue me…) This one's a little extra Easter bonus for you all, and one that'll probably whip along at a fair old pace, too.

As always, I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs or the regular cast involved in this story. I do, however, own the story, the Brit characters and I'll go all BOOM! on anyone who says otherwise. No death, destruction or really bad language in this chapter, but be warned, things will get 'interesting' as we progress so if you don't like carnage, Anglo Saxon expletives or stuff getting blown up, the Harry Potter fanfic is over there *points*

Lots of math to come in this season, so stand by your 'Algebra for Dummies' books…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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"Morning!" Don strode purposefully through the Bullpen, heading for his desk. As he approached his normally neat table, he could see a tottering pile of files filling his 'in' tray, threatening to tumble over the edge and spill out across the floor. He groaned loudly and gave a despairing look towards the heavens. "Really? I'm away for three days and _this _is what greets me?"

David glanced up from his computer screen and chuckled. "That'll teach you to take a long weekend, bud!"

"I thought we agreed that when you took over as relief supervisor I could take some extra time out!"

"Don, _we _agreed that. Unfortunately, the criminal fraternity of Los Angeles didn't get the memo."

"Probably because it's buried somewhere underneath that lot!" Don scowled at the pile of buff files and slumped down into his chair with a sigh. He pressed the 'on' button on his Intranet system and saw a cascade of emails tumble down the screen. Another groan. "Oh, _man_, c'_mon_!"

David laughed out loud this time and stood up, wandering over to his boss's desk. "Glad to have you back, Don."

"Oh yeah. So damn glad to be back. I mean, just look at this!" Don waved a hand towards the blinking screen as yet another email joined the backlog.

"Dude, you sound like Colby!"

"Yeah, well, right now I'm starting to understand Colby's renowned hatred of paperwork. And…where is he anyway?"

"Out on a call with his team. They're acting as heavy artillery for a major drugs bust Liz has going down this morning. Intel we got from Tabakian on Raphael DeMonzes. He's been singing like a canary ever since he was shot in prison." David sat down in the empty chair next to Don, happy to just spend a few minutes away from his own mountain of paperwork and to play catch up with his boss. "They were locked and loaded at four this morning. There were concerns that DeMonzes had some pretty exotic weaponry so they asked MIT to go in all guns blazing. You should've seen the grin on Colby's face when he got the brief!"

Don turned and faced his friend, a broad smile lighting up his face. "Our boy does love getting down and dirty, doesn't he?"

David nodded and smiled back. "He's come a long way, Don. The MIT team are pretty much the go to guys for anything major now. That's pissed SWAT off no small measure, I can tell you."

Don laughed. "Remember that second week you guys were teamed up?"

"What, the Vietnamese biker gang? Yeah. Colby damn near got me killed!"

"I remember the pair of you bitching like little girls about each other…"

"How he was a complete hothead…"

"…And you couldn't figure out why he had the whole army mentality thing going on?" Don finished David's sentence for him and laughed again. "Kinda worked out okay though, didn't it?"

David smiled quietly. "Yeah. It did."

"Okay, so where's everyone else?"

"Nikki's on leave. Apparently she's gone hiking with Ian."

Don raised an eyebrow. I thought she was seeing Micky Cox!"

"Complicated, buddy. _Very _complicated. I doubt if even your brother could figure out the mathematical dynamics on that one."

Don chuckled to himself. "Okay, so looks like I'm facing a paperwork day then. Anything else I should know about?"

David smiled wryly. "If there is, I'm sure you'll find a report about it in there somewhere." He motioned towards the unstable pile of papers.

"Thanks. Yeah, _thanks_ for that, David!" Don spun his chair around and glared at the contents of his swamped desktop. "Hope these are in some kind of priority order." He sighed and decided to start with the emails.

David chuckled again and stood up. "I'll leave you to it, bud." The comment provoked a grunt of acknowledgement from Don and nothing more. David wandered back to his own pile of paperwork, glad to hand the reins of command back to his boss.

The elevator doors pinged open and cheerful laughter echoed through the Bullpen. David glanced up to see Colby Granger, Micky Cox and Tim King burst through the open doors, still dressed in their characteristic black SWAT-style combats. As soon as Colby saw Don sitting in his familiar place, a broad grin lit his face up and his green eyes twinkled with mischief. He could see Don's mountain of paperwork and the scowl it had prompted from the normally calm man. He marched straight up towards Don's desk and slapped yet another file on the top of the precarious pile. "Hey Don! Welcome back!"

"Granger, I swear to God that if that file isn't telling me that you've solved the disappearance of Amelia Earheart, the truth behind the Yeti and the Roswell incident, I'm gonna make you eat it!" Don glowered at the younger man, but Colby could see the warmth in his brown eyes.

Colby grinned. "Nah, Don, just a report about the DeMonzes bust. I'll give you the final version later. And welcome back, bud. Nice break?"

"Not long enough. All good with you?"

"Yeah." Colby stretched lazily and disentangled his FMP90 from his shoulder. "Early start, but worth it to see Liz sashaying DeMonzes into a squad car, buddy, believe me."

"Any problems?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle. They had some tasty semi-automatics and a couple of Klakkers, but apart from that a kid with a slingshot could've taken them out."

"Hate to think your talents are being wasted, Granger. Must've been disappointing for your boys!"

Colby shrugged and shook his head. "Don, any gunfight you can walk away from is a good one, ya know? I reckon SWAT could've handled it with one hand tied behind their back, but it's never good to assume your enemy is weaker than you, especially if the intel says otherwise." Colby perched on the edge of the desk and unzipped his flack jacket. Despite his jovial tone, Don noticed the more thoughtful side of Colby's nature bubbling to the surface. Nobody had gotten hurt today. For both Don and Colby, that was the best they could wish for.

"How's Dee?"

Colby chuckled. "She's in London for a couple of weeks training some of Six's new recruits on counter espionage techniques."

Don's eyes widened. "Dee? _Teaching_?"

"Bud, she was a driving instructor for two years with INT 14. If you don't pass the driving test, you don't get in. So she's used to teaching. But yeah, kinda surprised me too, especially after all the shit she went through with London."

"What happened there?"

"Long story, dude. I'll tell you about it over a beer later?"

"Deal!" Don grinned. "So you're flying solo then?"

"Nah. Micky's my wingman until Dee gets back. He's a lousy navigator, though..."

"OY! GRANGER! COFFEE?" Micky Cox called out cheerfully from the canteen area.

Colby turned and nodded. "Yeah, thanks Mick." He glanced at Don and then back at his English friend. "Better make that two, buddy. Don here looks like he could use some caffeine right about now!"

"Yeah, and where exactly do you suggest I put said coffee cup, Colby?" Don frowned and waved a hand at his cluttered desk.

Colby looked at Don's overwhelmed desk and chuckled. "You could always hire an arsonist, dude."

Don laughed, glad to be back in the driving seat. He'd missed the good-humoured banter, the energy and the vibrancy of the Pen. While riding the Moto Guzzi around the desert for three days had been fun, it had been an empty, lonely kind of fun with nothing to show for it at the end except for a little less rubber on the fat back tyre and some sand in the air filter. Robin was in Baltimore and he needed a little time out to clear his head. But being back, despite the paperwork that threatened to tumble into his lap at any second, was like coming back home...

Colby nodded towards his screen. "Hey bud, that one looks urgent." Don looked back at the screen to see a new email with a red exclamation mark next to it. High priority. He sighed and opened the email with a click of the mouse button. The screen was blank except for a file attachment with 'OPEN ME' written under it and an instantly recognisable grid.

Colby frowned and looked at the screen. "Hey, man, isn't that a Minesweeper game grid?"

Don's face mirrored Colby's frown and he nodded. "Yeah. What the hell?"

"What's the other file?"

"I dunno…" Don opened the file and a graphic of a voice analyser popped up. The cursor blinked furiously at the start, waiting for Don to press play… He glanced up at Colby and shrugged. "Beats me."

"Guess you should play it, bud." Colby's face was neutral, but Don could see that already the big man was on alert. Colby's ability to sense when something wasn't quite all it should be was one of his strongest assets, and one that Don had relied on countless times over the years. David was his friend and he trusted the older man with his life. But Colby's instincts had saved his ass more times than he cared to remember, and over the years they had worked together he had learned how to pick up on the younger man's responses. Something wasn't quite right here…

David wandered over and laid a hand on Colby's shoulder. "Hey bud. What's up?"

"Dunno, man. Weird email time."

"What, not _more_ Viagra adverts, Don!"

"Nope, not this time, David." Don had a small crowd around his desk by now, as Micky Cox and Tim King wandered over, coffees in hand. Micky leaned forward and peered at the screen.

"Only one way to find out what's in it, mate." Micky slurped a mouthful of coffee and simultaneously handed over a cup to Colby. "Open the bleedin' thing. 'Ere, might help if you've got the sound button on. That's an audio file." Micky reached over Don's shoulder and turned the audio system on. "Go for it, Don."

Don pressed play…

"_Agent Don Eppes…Who I am is not important. What is important is what you decide to do next. With this file you will find a simple child's game. Minesweeper. I'm sure the cluster of agents you have buzzing around your desk right now will all recognise it. The principle is very simple. You have to find the squares covering the mines without setting them off. Some squares will indicate how many mines are in the vicinity of the square, some will be blank. But this game is a little different. Behind twenty of these squares are triggers to real bombs planted in the central Los Angeles area. Hit the wrong square and a bomb will be detonated. Flag a bomb square and that particular bomb will be made safe. However, if you hit more than two bombs, all of the safe ones will be reactivated and moved to new squares. You have twenty-four hours to find all the bombs, Agent Eppes. If you don't, I will detonate all twenty simultaneously. Can you imagine the carnage that would cause? How many innocent lives would be lost? Now you may decide to avoid this situation by refusing to play the game. However. If you do not start playing within one minute of this message ending, I will detonate the first bomb. You must play at least one move every hour. If you don't, I will detonate one of the bombs. Don't think that I __**want**__ anything, Eppes, or that you can negotiate with me. I don't want a ransom or some random political prisoner released. I'm doing this because I __**can**__. Because I __**can**__, Eppes. Because I like games, Don. Oh, I do love to play games, Don. __**Do you**__? Message ends…_

The distorted voice abruptly stopped.

The timer on the Minesweeper game started counting. "Don…" Colby looked in alarm at the grid.

"I know, I know!" Don glared at the counter. He had fifty-seven seconds to make a decision. Fifty-six. Fifty five… "Shit! SHIT!" He turned to David. "Get everyone in, NOW!" David ran back to his desk like a scolded cat and immediately started yelling orders across the Bullpen. The activity rate suddenly shot up as agents started making calls.

"Tim, get on to the bomb squad. Put them on full alert." Colby's voice was cold and clinical. Tim nodded a curt response and jogged over to his own desk, scooping up the phone and dialling frantically.

Fifty one, fifty, forty nine, forty eight…

"There has to be a traceable link on this email. I'll get the tech teams on it." Micky dashed off towards the tech room.

Thirty seven, thirty six, thirty five…

Colby and Don stared at the screen as the flashing red numbers counted relentlessly towards zero. Twenty two, twenty one, twenty… "Don. You need to make a decision. You need to select a square."

"Yeah, but which one? _Which one, Colby?_"

Colby glared furiously at the screen. "I _hate _this game! It always pisses me off when you hit a bomb square and that dumb-assed little icon pops up with the tongue sticking out and its stupid crossed eyes." Colby leaned in, studying the grid. "But if we have to do this, start with the top left. Unless this son of a bitch isn't playing fair, it should be a safe square."

"Colby, if we get this wrong…"

"Don, we have eleven seconds! We don't have time to second guess ourselves!"

Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Don moved the cursor over the first square and, holding his breath, clicked the left button on his mouse.

Three, two…

The countdown stopped.

Don sat back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. His heart was pounding. "Jesus…"

Colby sat back and puffed his cheeks out. "Shit, man!" He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the screen. A second timer was now counting up. They'd already used two minutes of the twenty-four hours. The seconds ticked off relentlessly. "Okay, so we don't have a choice here, Don. We're playing the game. We've got twenty-four hours to find twenty bombs, and we've gotta play at least one move every hour. So we've got fifty-six minutes to plan our next move. That's a hell of an ask, bud."

"Bomb squad are on their way." Tim called out from across the room. Colby gave a brief nod in response.

Don shouted over to David. "I want a full briefing in the war room in twenty minutes. Colby, get down to Cal Sci."

"Charlie?" Colby was already standing up.

"Who else?" Don turned and raised an eyebrow…

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Nineteen minutes later, the war room was filled with agents, bomb squad personnel and other representatives from various law enforcement organisations. Micky Cox had routed the ticking Minesweeper grid onto the plasma screen. The timer was relentlessly counting onwards towards sixty minutes, and nothing any of them could do would stop it. Don ignored the general hubbub around him and stared at the screen, wrapped up in his own thoughts. They had less than forty minutes before they had to make the next move. Colby had already radioed in that he was on his way back to the office with Charlie and Amita in tow. For Don, they couldn't get here soon enough…

"Don, Matt's still working on trying to trace where the email came from, but the bomber sent it through a dozen IP addresses. He's having a hell of a time backtracing it." David trotted into the war room and stood next to his boss. He looked up at the screen and scowled. "I know we have to take this seriously, but…"

"…Could it be a hoax?" Don shook his head. "Micky says there's some seriously weird coding behind the email, so I'm not taking any chances, David. No, we have to take this as a genuine threat until we know otherwise."

"Whoever did this has some serious technical abilities, Don."

"Agreed. Get someone to go through the database. We're looking for possibles who have both bomb-making experience _and _high-end computer programming skills."

"And…look I hate to say this Don, but that message?" David frowned. "It seemed real personal, Don. Like he was talking directly to _you_, bud."

Don turned, a small smile on his lips. "You noticed that too, huh? Yeah, Colby said the same thing just before he left for Cal Sci."

"You want me to go back through your case files?"

Don nodded. "Yeah. And see if our techs can clean that voice message up. I wanna hear what this guy sounds like for real."

David nodded briskly and moved away towards Micky Cox, who was urgently tapping at a computer keyboard.

Don took one last look at the Minesweeper grid and turned away. Staring at it wasn't going to get him any further. "Okay people, wadda we say?"

His voice immediately stilled the buzz of conversation as each section began their briefings…

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"So you say that the bomber is using the Minesweeper game to activate _real _bombs in LA?" Charlie's eyes widened and he grabbed at the overhead handhold as Colby took a corner on less than four wheels. In the back, Amita let out a small yelp as she slid across the seat.

"Sorry, Amita. Yeah. Look, could he actually wire up an email attachment to a real-time bomb like that?" Colby glanced in the driver's mirror back at Amita.

"It's possible. But it's more likely that the game isn't wired up to the actual bombs, but a router point. If the game isn't activated within a set time, a message is sent through to the router that will alert the bomber that no action has been taken. He'll then probably remote detonate a bomb from a standard cell phone. It's possible that the game _might _be directly linked, but it would leave a traceable pathway that we could follow to find the location of the bombs."

"Okay, so this sicko's good technically." Colby pressed the horn of the big SUV and a slow moving car got a blast of the full fury of his road rage. "GET OUTTA THE GODDAMN WAY, YOU ASS!" He hauled the steering wheel around to the left and the tyres screamed and smoked in protest.

"I'm feeling a little motion sick here, Colby…"

"Sorry Amita, but we only got a few minutes before Don has to choose another square or we could be looking at a lot of dead bodies."

"You say that the message was specifically for my brother?" Charlie was also looking a little green as the SUV swayed and bodyrolled around another corner.

"Yeah. Makes me think that it's someone with a personal grudge against Don, bud."

"And he's played the first square?"

"Yep. Had to. We had to start playing the game within a minute of the message ending or the first bomb would go off. Problem is, what's the next square?"

"Well, there's a whole lot of math involved in Minesweeper, Colby, including one that's particularly interesting. The Clay Mathematics Institute have offered a million dollar prize to anyone who can crack the P equals NP problem."

"The what, now?"

"It's what is known as an open question problem. Basically…"

"Charlie, right now isn't a good time for a math lesson, buddy. Just hold that thought, okay?" Colby swung the SUV into the FBI's underground car park and the screaming of four tortured tyres echoed through the lot. The SUV juddered to a halt and Colby hauled on the parking brake. He turned to Charlie, a deadly serious look in his eyes. "Listen, bud, I think there's something more behind all this, and I think it has a lot to do with your brother. This guy knows that if Don makes the wrong decision, he'll be responsible for god knows how many casualties. You help him make the right call, and I'll try and nail the son of a bitch before we start having to sweep up body parts off the streets, okay?"

"Colby, the P equals NP equation is one of those problems that is considered to be almost unsolvable. That's why the game is so difficult to predict. And if the bomber has introduced some new variables into this particular game then it could be impossible to say what move is the right one…"

Colby laid a friendly hand on Charlie's shoulder and smiled reassuringly. "Bud, I know we've asked you to pull some pretty tough equations outta your ass over the years, man, but I don't want you to try and solve some unsolvable math problem here. I don't need you to do the impossible. I just want you to help Don play this particular game as well as you can, okay? And if anyone can do that, it's you."

Charlie gave his friend a wry smile. "No pressure then, huh, Col?"

Colby smiled warmly and gave Charlie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "No pressure, bud…"

_**TBC…**_


	2. 11:02

Disclaimer:

Yeah, yeah, I know, about bloody time! Sorry for the delay folks, usual situation my end – silly amounts of paying work taking priority. Anyhoo, here we go again and yep, things go BOOM! Much excitement this time around…

As always, I have N-U-F-F-I-N-K to do with the writers, cast, crew or production of Numb3rs. All of the regulars belongy Cheryl and Nick. The Brits and the story are MINE and I'll thumb-wrestle into agonising submission anyone who says otherwise.

Not too much harsh language this time around, but if you're easily offended…what the hell are you doing reading this? You know me by now, surely…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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"Hey, alright! Charlie's here!" The usual smile of greeting was missing from Don's face as his brother walked into the war room. "Colby, check in with Micky, see if the tech team are any closer to tracing that original email."

"Will do. Amita, might need your help on this." Colby gave Amita a small smile and she nodded in response.

"I can see if we can ping back on the original server and find out if there's any pattern to the routers the bomber is using. That may help us to narrow down an origination point a bit more." Amita frowned, deep in thought.

"Well, as much as I love my tech, I have absolutely no idea what you just said there. Micky and Matt will probably be able to have a more useful conversation with you than me. Shall we?" Colby graciously stepped aside to let Amita exit the war room first. He threw a quick glance back towards Don. "How long before you have to choose another square, Don?"

"Eleven minutes."

Colby simply nodded and followed Amita out of the war room, leaving the brothers alone. Charlie stared at the plasma screen, studying the Minesweeper grid intently. Don moved quietly and stood next to his younger brother. "Did Colby fill you in?"

"He said that whoever sent this to you said that they'd hidden twenty bombs on the grid, linked to real bombs in LA. Don, there's some really sophisticated math going on here. The sheer number of probabilities is astronomical. Minesweeper is a great example of the P equals NP problem. Basically computer scientists believe that a P problem, which is a problem solvable in polynomial time, cannot be reduced to an NP, namely a problem that cannot be solvable in polynomial time. It's intuitively obvious, but no mathematical proof for this has ever been discovered."

Don frowned and stared at his brother. "Bud, I don't know about that, but all I do know is that I have…" Don checked his watch, "nine minutes to pick the next square."

"Don, that isn't enough time for me to solve a problem that has had the greatest mathematicians in the world working on it for the last god knows how many years!"

"I'm not asking you to, buddy. I'm asking you which square should I pick? That's all."

Charlie moved closer to the screen. "Most people when they play Minesweeper approach it almost like a jigsaw puzzle."

"Huh?"

"In a jigsaw puzzle you need to find the corners and the edges first so that you can build a framework to create the main picture in the middle. It's the same with Minesweeper. By eliminating the corners, you're reducing the likelihood of hitting a bomb on the opening moves. See here?" Charlie pointed to the square Don had already clicked on, the top left hand corner square. "This is the optimum move to begin the game because it offers the best chance of _not_ hitting a bomb, although even that is often a mistaken assumption. But see in that square you've uncovered a number two?"

"Yeah, so from that I know there's at least two bombs in squares adjacent to that square, right?"

"Yes, but you have _three_ squares to choose from, Don. Only one of those three squares is a safe square. You have a much higher probability of hitting a bomb than you do hitting the safe square."

"So you're saying if I choose one of those squares and flag it as a bomb, we're at least taking one potential bomb out of the equation?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes. But if you choose the wrong square…"

"Then I've still got two bombs there and no way of knowing if I've flagged the right one or not."

"Minesweeper won't reveal if you've been successful in tagging a bomb until the game's been played out. It's a hidden variable."

"Yeah, well Charlie I've got just five minutes to make this hidden variable _un_hidden, buddy. What do I do? Do I go for another corner square and hope I don't hit a bomb, or do I chance it and flag one of the squares around that first square in the hope I can take a bomb out of the running?"

"Neither."

"What?"

"You do neither, Don. You choose a completely _random _square. The game generates the positions of the mines _after _you make your first move, not before. So no matter what square you chose originally, you would have been safe."

"But the guy who sent this said he'd already _positioned _the bomb squares on the grid!"

"Then he was lying to you, Don. That's not how the game works. Not the _real _Minesweeper, anyway. If he did position the bomb squares prior to you commencing the game, then this grid isn't a real Minesweeper grid. It has a set pattern. And if that's the case, I can work it out."

"In…four minutes?"

"No." Charlie let a small smile flash across his face. "Even I can't do that, Don. But I can use a mersenne twister algorithm to calculate the possibilities using random number generation, and apply it to the grid. That should give me a starting point to work from."

"And right now?"

"Like I said. At this point until we know otherwise, we have to assume that it's a randomly generated grid. We haven't got enough information yet to find any kind of pattern, if one exists. You've got as much chance of hitting a safe square if you just choose any square from the rest of the grid."

"Charlie, I've also got a good chance of hitting a bomb square too, and potentially killing a lot of people!"

Charlie's face grew serious. "Yes, yes you have. I'm sorry Don, at this point that's all we have. There simply isn't enough data yet to ensure that the square you choose is guaranteed to be safe!"

Don stared at the grid. He had one minute to make a decision. Standing in the doorway, David and Colby stood silently watching. David felt his guts twist up with tension. He could see from his friend's stance and the rigidity in Colby's shoulders that Granger felt the same anxiety that he did. There was nothing any of them could do. Don _had _to make a decision. A decision that could give them another hour to work with. Or it could mean that innocent people in LA would suddenly be plunged into a nightmare world of violence and death…

Don silently walked over to the computer keyboard and placed his hand on the mouse. He couldn't breathe. He was fighting every instinct to pick up the keyboard and hurl it at the grid on the plasma screen – a grid that seemed to taunt him personally.

The seconds ticked down.

Ten. Nine. Eight…

He moved the mouse and the cursor's arrow danced across the grid.

Six. Five. Four. Three…

It landed on the top right corner square.

Two. One…

_Click_…

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Alan Eppes put the last sparkling dish into the drying rack and squeezed out the dishcloth into the washing up water. He hummed quietly to himself, content just to potter around the house on a Saturday morning and do all those little jobs that Charlie kept putting off. There were cobwebs to dust out of dark corners, the laundry to put on and at least three roof shingles that needed attention before the leak in Don's old room started staining the ceiling again. Then he had groceries to buy, the car to wash and the Koi pond to clean out. That damn pump was playing up again, and Ray had promised to come over this afternoon and check it out for him. Alan and Ray had struck up a firm friendship based on a love of all things mechanical and level of practically that seemed to constantly elude his two sons. Even Margaret had been more practically minded than Charlie. Nobody could grout a bathroom tile wall like her… Alan stopped, lost in a comforting memory of his beloved wife, the damp dishcloth still clutched in his soap-covered fingers. A small, sad smile spread across his lips. "Margaret…" Just saying her name was a comfort, but one tinged with a feeling of terrible loss that still seemed to cloud his world with a smothering darkness…

A loud squeak outside snapped his attention back to the here and now. Outside the red mailbox flag stood proudly to attention. Alan heard a car door slam and an engine snarl into life. There was a squeal of tyres as an unseen car sped away from the front of the house.

Alan glanced at his watch and frowned.

Strange…

It was just past eleven. The mailman normally came much earlier…

Alan threw the wet dishcloth back into the bowl and wiped his hands dry on the towel that hung on the back of the kitchen door. He pushed the kitchen door open and walked into the front of the house. Next to the green fluted bowl that took pride of place on the table in the middle of the room lay a pile of letters. Letters he'd brought in at eight am this morning. He paused and glanced at them, a frown crinkling his face. They weren't expecting any courier deliveries and besides, a courier would knock, not just leave the package in the mailbox…

He opened the front door. At the end of the walkway, the mailbox stood with its red flag still up. Alan took a step forward onto the front porch…

The explosion blew him back through the front door and into the house. As he was tossed backwards like a rag doll, he tried to cover his face with his arms, desperate to protect his head from the force of the blast. The front window exploded inwards in a shower of glass daggers that peppered the front room with lethal shrapnel. Where the mailbox once stood was a crater of brown earth big enough to lose a Buick in. Stones and debris rattled down onto the roof, smashing shingles and raining down into the front yard. Car alarms screamed and yelped. Terrified neighbours dashed out of their houses, their quiet Saturday morning blown apart…

In the middle of the roar of chaos, Alan Eppes lay in the wreckage of the front room, his right arm still thrown over his face…

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"Oh god, _no_…" Don stared in disbelief at the screen. Top right. A red background with a black bomb flashed at him. That irritating icon at the top stuck its tongue out, its eyes crossed out. But instead of the game ending, the countdown began again.

Don spun around and stared at his brother. "Charlie!"

Charlie looked mortified. "Don, I'm so sorry. I…"

Don took a shaking breath and shook his head. "No, buddy. It's not your fault. There was nothing you could do." Don was utterly crushed. Somewhere out in LA, someone's peaceful Saturday morning had been shattered by a massive explosion. He glanced up at David and Colby in the doorway. "Find out where." His voice was hoarse. David nodded and began to turn away. But at that moment Tim King trotted up behind them, a deadly serious look on his face. He spoke quietly and urgently to Colby.

Colby's expression changed from one of serious professionalism to complete disbelief. "Jesus, no…" He looked at his boss. "Don…"

"Colby?" Don frowned deeply. He rarely saw that terrible look of concern on Colby's face and when he did, he knew something dreadful had happened…

Colby walked quickly into the room and stood in front of the brothers. He swallowed nervously, trying to find the words. He took a shaking breath and then carefully and quietly spoke. "Don, the bomb…they…it's your dad, Don…"

Don's eyes widened in horror. Next to him Charlie grabbed at the edge of the table, feeling his legs start to give under him. David rushed to his side, gently helping him down into a chair. Colby put a comforting hand on Don's shoulder. He could see that his boss was in shock. He tried to reassure the shaken man, not wanting to believe it himself but putting on a calm front for the sake of Don and Charlie. "Don, there's no reports of any casualties. If your dad had been hurt, we'd know. Don? Hey, Don? You with me here, buddy?"

Don snapped out of his stunned silence and stared at Colby. "My dad…"

"All we know is that there's been an explosion at the house. LAPD are on the scene. Come on. I'll drive you. Tim, get the car around the front. Now." Tim nodded wordlessly and ran out of the room. "David, stay with Charlie."

"No! I need to see my Dad!" Charlie stared up at Colby, his eyes wide with fright and his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm coming with you!"

David stood in front of Charlie, his deep brown eyes filled with concern. "Charlie, listen to me. Your place is here, buddy." He held up a hand. "No, listen to me, Charlie, _listen_. It isn't safe for you to go back there. The place is going to be crawling with our guys, I promise you, _I promise you_ we'll take care of your dad. You need to help us, Charlie. You need to help us figure this out."

Don moved towards the shocked, hunched figure of his brother and crouched in front of him, cupping the young man's face in his hands and forcing him to look straight into his eyes. "Charlie, we've got less than an hour to stop this happening again. Anyone can push the buttons on that grid. It doesn't need to be me. I need to be out there, Chuck. I need to find this son of a bitch before he hurts anyone else. I need you, Charlie. Please." Don wrapped his arms around his frightened brother in a comforting embrace. "Dad's gonna be okay, Charlie. He's gonna be okay." For a moment the brothers clung to one another, oblivious to the presence of David and Colby, wrapped up in their own personal world of hurt and fear. Slowly, Don broke the embrace and sat back on his heels. "Charlie, you need to figure this out for me, buddy. I can't do this without your help. Okay?" He stood up slowly and looked at Colby. "Let's go."

Colby nodded wordlessly and shared a look with David – a look that said, 'Take care of him. I'll look after Don.' David nodded and watched as his two friends quickly left the war room. He turned back to Charlie and spoke softly. "Okay Charlie, waddya need?"

Charlie looked up at David, tears rimming his eyes. "I need my dad to be okay, David…"

33333333

Colby had broken every traffic law in the book. Sirens screaming and lights flashing, he careered through the LA traffic and towards the normally peaceful, calm neighbourhood of Alan's house. As they rounded the corner he could see a cordon around the house and dozens of emergency service vehicles already at the scene. The Dodge screamed to a stop, and before Colby had even switched the engine off Don was already out of the passenger door and sprinting towards the house. Colby put the car in park and followed his boss, dreading with every step what they might find. Alan had been like a father to him for years. He had welcomed Colby into his family with open arms and a warmth Colby had rarely experienced from his own dad. That their dangerous lives had finally affected such a gentle, kind man made him sick to his stomach, and angry beyond measure. He couldn't even _begin _to imagine how Don was feeling right now…

Don dashed through the shattered remains of the front door. "DAD! DAD!" He grabbed a policeman by his arm. "Where's my dad? _WHERE IS HE?" _The policeman pointed towards the dining area.

Sitting stunned and shocked, with blood covering one side of his face was his father. He was being attended to by a medic, who was gently cleaning the worst of the blood from his cheek. Alan looked up and saw his frightened son standing in the middle of a devastated living room. He looked lost. Helpless. Alan gently shooed the medic away and carefully got to his feet. Don could see that the older man was shaking – shock was setting in. Alan's faltering steps took him towards his son and Don rushed to meet him. "Donny…" Don threw his arms around his father and he clung to him, the relief of seeing his father still alive almost overwhelming him…

As the two men held on to each other, Colby watched from a distance, relief flooding through him. He flipped out his phone and hit speed-dial. "David? It's me. Alan's okay. Tell Charlie he's okay." Colby snapped the phone shut and looked again towards Don and Alan. They were still holding on to each other, oblivious of the chaos around them. Colby smiled and turned away. This was a father-son moment he had no right to intrude upon. He glanced around and saw Tim King talking to one of the bomb squad members. Time to find out what the hell happened here…

Alan carefully pulled back from his son's embrace and looked at Don. Don's brown eyes were filled with concern and grief. "Dad, I'm so sorry…I…" Don paused and took a shaking breath. "Are you okay?"

"Okay? Well, apart from being blown backwards through the door and getting pelted with dirt, yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Your head…"

"Don, you know head wounds bleed like mad. Seriously. I'm okay." Alan smiled reassuringly at his son. Don could see quite clearly that his dad was not okay. He was confused, shocked, frightened. Definitely _not _okay…

"Tell me what happened." Don guided his father back over towards the waiting medic and helped him to sit down. He could see his father's hands trembling violently as he sank down into the seat. The medic began fussing over Alan's head wound again as Don crouched on his heels next to his father.

"I was doing the washing up. I heard something outside. You know that squeak that the mailbox flag makes? Well, I heard that. I thought it was a bit odd, you know? The mailman gets here early on a Saturday and I'd already brought the mail in. There was a car outside. I heard it pull away. Must've been going at a fair old speed too, because whoever it was made the tyres scream like you wouldn't believe."

"What time was this?"

"Eleven oh two."

"That's pretty precise, Dad…"

"I checked my watch. I distinctly remember checking my watch. Anyway, I went to the front door, opened it and boom." Alan paused and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Donny, what's going on?" Alan's voice was a hoarse whisper. He was trying to be his usual, calm self so as not to alarm his son any more.

But Don could see how shaken his father was. He grasped his father's hand and held on tight. "I don't know, dad. But I _promise _you I'm gonna find out!" He stood up and spoke to the medic. "Get my dad to hospital."

"Donny, I'm alright. Besides, look at this mess!"

"Dad, don't argue with me. You're going to the hospital and that's final. We're gonna have crime scene boys climbing all over the house for a while yet. The mess can wait." He looked at the medic, a hard cast in his eyes. "No matter what he says to you, you get him to the hospital, okay? And don't let him try bribing you with brisket or anything like that. Believe me, he'll try." He gave the medic a reassuring smile and the medic nodded back, grinning.

"No brisket bribes. Gotchya, Agent Eppes."

Don patted the man on the shoulder and turned away, looking for Colby. He saw the younger man deep in conversation with Tim King and carefully manoeuvred past the busy crime scene guys who were sifting through the rubble of his childhood home. "Waddya say, Col?"

Colby laid a hand on Don's shoulder. "How is he?"

"Grouchy. Complaining about the mess." Don ran his hand over his face and puffed out his cheeks. "Okay, what have we got?"

"Pretty basic stuff, Don. Enough C4 to make things real unpleasant for anyone standing too close. Simple timer mechanism. No signs of a remote control detonation." Tim scowled. "Don, this was strictly amateur hour stuff. Something you could cook up in a coupla minutes if you had the kit. More like a blasting charge than an actual bomb."

Don frowned. "Col, dad said he heard a car speeding away just before the explosion."

Colby shook his head. "That doesn't tie in with what our bomber's claimed, Don. He said that the bombs were already planted."

Tim spoke hesitantly. "Don, I hate to ask this, but are we sure this is connected to the case and not something entirely separate?"

"You mean is it coincidence?"

"I gotta ask, bud. Colby's always said that you need to check everything before you start making assumptions…" Tim shrugged and glanced at a scowling Colby. "Sorry, boss."

"No Tim, Colby's right, you do need to check everything before assuming anything. But in this instance, there's no way this is a coincidence. This is our guy, I'm sure of it. I played that square at eleven am precisely."

"And if your dad said this all happened at just after eleven…"

"Eleven oh two. He checked his watch."

Colby nodded. "Okay, eleven oh two. So that means the guy was literally waiting around the corner to plant the bomb. Don, remember I said this feels personal?" Colby studied his boss carefully. "Well, it kinda doesn't get any more personal than this, huh?"

Don sighed and nodded. "Yeah." He stared around the living room. It wasn't just the superficial damage to the house that shocked him. This had always been a 'safe' place. It was _home_. It was where he knew the people he loved would be protected from the violence and tragedy he saw on the streets every day. And now? That had been shattered, just like the smashed windows and the broken door hanging from its hinges. They could replace the windows. They could fix the door. They could put up a new mailbox and replant the garden. But would this ever truly feel like 'home' again?

333333333

The ride back to the office had been filled with silent tension. Colby had given Tim King strict instructions to stick to Alan's side like glue and not to leave him alone for a second. Tim had nodded and the last Colby had seen was the tough ex-Marine climbing into the back of the ambulance with Alan, a determined look on his face.

Colby drove through the traffic, taking the shortest route back to the FBI building. Don sat in the passenger seat, staring thoughtfully out into the bright, sunny day. They had another thirty minutes before the next square had to be played.

Who was doing this? And why? Don's mind churned over and over. Colby glanced at his passenger, noticing the muscle that twitched in Don's jaw. This son of a bitch had hit Don where he was most vulnerable – at his family. Colby knew that Don would rip LA apart to find the person behind this sick game. And Colby would be right there, tearing up the streets with him…

"Don, you okay?"

"Huh?" Don snapped back into the here and now and looked over at the younger man. "No, Col. I'm not. Someone just tried to kill my dad. And I don't even know why, let alone who."

Colby nodded. "Okay. Let's think this through. You and I both know you've got a lot of enemies out there. Man, you can't do this job without racking up a few psychos who would want to get back at you. But this is different, Don. This…" Colby frowned. "I dunno, man. This feels _real_ personal."

Don fixed his attention on his friend. He knew he could always trust Colby to speak his mind, no matter how difficult it might be. Don had once joked that Colby was the most 'honest goddamn spy he'd ever known'. The younger man had laughed, but understood exactly what Don had meant. And right now, no matter how much he _didn't _want to hear it, Colby's analysis of the situation might help him make a connection, join some dots, find out _why_…

"Look, I'm just thinkin' out loud here, Don, okay? It's just that, well, I've seen this kinda thing before."

"When?"

"When I was working in Kosovo and…um, _elsewhere_." Colby flashed Don a brief grin. "Sorry bud, you know I…"

"…Can't tell me details, yeah, I know Col. If you did, you'd have to kill me, right?" Don briefly smiled back at his friend.

Colby chuckled quietly. "Yeah. Anyhoo, this kind of vindictiveness, ya know, getting at someone by attacking their family? People they're close to? It's like a real South American or Russian Mafia kinda thing to do. Russian Mafia vendettas go on for years, man. _Years. _And remember Gary Walker said to you that the Russians would shoot you just to see if the gun works? They're a whole different kinda crazy, bud." Don frowned deeply as Colby continued. "If it was any other type of gang or perp, they'd go after you personally. Like Buck did, ya know? But this? Goin' after your dad? Nah, man, this just feels wrong."

Don was silent, lost in thought. Colby glanced over at his boss and frowned. "Don?"

"You're right, Col." Don nodded slowly. "You arrested DeMonzes this morning, right?"

"Yeah, but Don that email was sent about a half hour after we arrested DeMonzes. That's way too short a time to put something this complex together. Besides, Tabakian might have the connections to do something like this, but he's turned snitch, bud. He wouldn't do anything that could hurt his plea bargain with Robin. Besides, that was Liz's case, not yours." Colby shook his head. "No man, this ain't South American. They're way more creative. The callousness of this? Goin' after your dad? This is Russian, bud. Trust me."

"That's what I don't get, though, Col. If the Russians were involved, why didn't they go after _you_? They've got a damn sight more reason to bust your ass, not mine."

Colby was quiet for a moment. Don could practically _hear _the younger man's mind whirring. Slowly, Colby shook his head. "No. I get what you're sayin', but let's face it man, this time you're the target, not me." He manoeuvred the big SUV back into the FBI parking lot and parked up, turning the engine off and pulling on the parking brake. He turned in his seat and faced Don, his green eyes serious. "There _is _someone I can think of, Don."

"Who?"

"Yuri Koverchenko."

Don frowned deeply. "What, the guy we arrested for hacking into the bank computers?"

"Don, think about it. He wiped out your bank accounts, hacked into the FBI computers to get those kids released from holding under your name, remember? Hell, Don, he even rigged that bomb when we hit their flop house! David took a bullet in the shoulder, man, remember? They may have been brutal but dude, they were seriously teched up. The guy's got all the right connections and the right skills set to pull something like this off."

"Except for one thing, Col. He's doing thirty years in supermax."

Colby shook his head. "Don, you gotta start thinkin' like a Russian, buddy. Yuri might be someone's bitch up in the big house right now, but what about his crew? What about his family, Don? The guy's a Russian mobster. They tend to run their outfits like a family business. You gotta figure that there's more than one Koverchenko, man."

Don nodded slowly. "You've got a good point, Col. David said it felt personal too, and suggested checking back over some of the old cases." Don took a deep breath. "Okay. I want you to chase this up. Check back over Koverchenko. Find out everything you can about him. Find out if anyone's visited him in prison, if he's had any contact with anyone, I don't care who it is. I want names."

Colby nodded. "Not a problem. I've got plenty of contacts still over in Eastern Europe, bud. I can find out if anyone associated with Yuri's been payin' visits to the US recently. Ya know. Any high end hackers and bomb makers, for example."

Don gave Colby a cold stare. "Whatever it takes, Col."

Colby's green eyes hardened. "Understood." He opened the driver door and began to climb out of the cab. Don laid a hand on his friend's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Colby turned, a puzzled expression on his face. "Don? You okay?"

"You're off the leash, Granger. I trust David to do things by the book and he'll be the one to get us the evidence we can use in court." Don paused and his face darkened. "But these bastards tried to kill my dad, Col. If you're right, and they're going after people I care about to get to me? I don't care _what _we have to do to stop them. Is that clear?"

A small, vicious little smile flickered across Colby's lips.

It chilled Don to see it, but this time? This time things were _personal.._.

"Crystal, Don. _Crystal_…"

_**TBC…**_


	3. No Rules

Disclaimer:

Here we go then. This story will move at a slightly more sedate pace for two reasons – one, I have a STUPID amount of work on at the moment which means I'm working more hours than actually exist in a day and therefore am single-handedly managing to prove that Einstein's General Theory of Relativity is a complete crock, and secondly because I want to make sure that what is actually turning into a right little bugger of a complicated story doesn't go wandering off on its own somewhere!

Usual disclaimers apply – I own NOTHING, nada, zip, zilch to do with Numb3rs or the main character, but the Brits and the story are MINE! Usual warning for strong language, no violence in this one, but man, you just WAIT until the next one! Wanna talk about _dark_? Oh, have I EVER got some sh!t planned for chapter 4!

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

3333333333333333333333333333 33

The lift doors pinged open - Don and Colby walked quickly into the Bullpen. A rapid scan of the organised chaos that met him told Eppes that everyone was on high alert – pulling out every stop to try and stop the carnage the bomber had promised. In the war room, Don could see his brother frantically scribbling formulas and equations on a clear board. Occasionally, Charlie's dark curls would dance wildly as he spun around to look at the plasma screen that showed the mocking, vindictive Minesweeper game. The countdown continued relentlessly. Don only had thirteen minutes left before he would be forced to play the next square…

The two men headed into the war room. Next to Charlie, David barked into his cell phone, giving whoever was on the other end of the call a really hard time. "I don't give a _damn_, okay? You just get me those files, and get me them _now_!" David snapped the phone shut and slammed it down on the table. He looked up as he heard the footsteps of his two friends and immediately rushed forward towards Don. "How's your Dad?"

Charlie spun around, his eyes wide. "Don!"

Don held a hand up, trying to reassure his brother and his second in command. "It's okay, guys. Dad's okay. Would you believe he wanted to tidy up the house? Tim practically had to throw him into the damn ambulance!"

"But he's okay, right? I mean, he's…not hurt or anything?" Charlie's voice was on the verge of panic. Until he heard it from his brother, no amount of reassurance from David would make that stomach-twisting knot go away. Don wrapped a protective arm around his younger sibling and smiled.

"He's fine, Chuck. Really. A little battered, but just a few scratches, is all."

Charlie let out a shaking sigh of relief. "Okay. I…um, _Chuck_? Hmm. Okay. So, listen." Charlie spun out of his brother's embrace and bounced energetically back to the board. Don smiled quietly to himself. Now that the fog of uncertainty over the well being of their father had been lifted, Charlie's usual boundless energy had taken back control. "I've taken a look at the grid and it seems to me that he's using a version of the game that incorporates a fairly predictable sequence of binary variables. If we can work out the initial part of the sequence, which is what this statement _here_…" Charlie waved wildly at a line of incomprehensible numbers and letters, "is, then I think we can reduce the number of unknown squares and possibly even start to predict where he might have planted the remaining nineteen bombs. If we can do that…"

Don held up his hand again. "I wish it was that simple. The guy isn't playing fair, Charlie."

Charlie stopped abruptly and stared at his brother. "What? I…what? What do you mean?"

"I mean from what Dad told me, he put the bomb in the mailbox _after _I'd played the square. So all that about the bombs being planted already is horse-shit."

"So, you're saying that…"

"I'm saying that this son of a bitch is driving around the city with a car full of bombs and a link up to the game. Every time I play a square…"

"…Which you've gotta do in eleven minutes, Don…" David interrupted and pointed at the countdown on the screen.

"Shit. Okay, Charlie, I don't have time to explain it all, but I think whoever is doing this is coming after me. Us. Well, me in particular, but us in general."

Charlie sat back on the corner of the table and stared at his brother. "You mean…this is _personal_?" Don nodded. Charlie frowned deeply. "But _why_? I mean, yeah, sure you've made your fair share of enemies over the years, Don, but _this_?"

Behind Don and still standing in the doorway, Colby silently indicated at David that he wanted to talk to him in private. David frowned. He could see a cold, hard look in his friend's eyes – a look he'd seen before. A look that spoke volumes… Without saying another word, he followed his friend out of the room and to a quiet corner of the connecting corridor.

"Col?"

"Okay, listen, David. What Don said in there? About it being personal?"

"Yeah. I've had that feeling from the get-go too."

"You and me both, man." Colby's voice was low and serious. "I need to know the names and addresses of everyone suspected with having connections to Uri Koverchenko. In particular, I wanna know if the son of a bitch has a brother, or brothers or any close relatives in the US. And I need to know right now, David."

"Koverchenko? Col, are you sure?"

"Honestly? Nope, not absolutely sure as in would stand up in court and swear on the bible sure. But something about this makes my nerves jangle, bud. I know how these bastards work, David, believe me. They can hold a grudge for generations, man, and if it _is_ the damn Russians then we're all currently walking around with targets on our backs, okay?" Colby spoke rapidly, conveying a sense of urgency to his friend. "Look, they went after Alan. That's pretty typical of their MO. If it is Koverchenko, they'll come after Amita, Charlie, you, me, all of us. And they'll make damn sure that Don has to sit there and watch his friends and family hurt or even killed in the process, one by one. That's how they get their kicks, man. They don't just shoot you. They shoot your family, your friends, hell, they'll shoot your goddamn _dog_! So if that is what's happening, all bets are _off_." The last few words were practically a snarl. "So I need to know where Koverchenko's loved ones are. Because David? I _know how to play this game_, my friend."

David had a deeply uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew his friend well enough to know when he was 'off the leash' as Don had put it. And he knew just how nasty Colby could get when he was like this. "Col, listen to me, man. You going all lone gunman in the belltower right now ain't gonna help Don. We need to _think clearly_, brother. For all we know we might be way off base with Koverchenko…"

"David, I don't have time to argue morals with you, okay? Please. Trust me on this. Tell me what argument to make, and I'll make it. Just…" Colby ran his hand through his short, messed up hair. "David, just trust me, man. My gut tells me I'm right with this. Get me those names and addresses. Leave the rest to me." Without another word, Colby turned abruptly and walked away. David watched his friend as he disappeared into a side room. He could see every muscle in the man was coiled like a steel spring. God help anyone who got in his way right now…

David glanced back into the war room. In his heart, he knew Colby was right. This was personal. Way _too _personal to be just another ordinary pissed ex-con trying to get some sense of revenge for getting caught. Granger's gut feeling was the same as his own. And he was already way ahead of his friend. Those files he'd been screaming at some poor filing clerk for were the names and addresses of everyone suspected of having a connection to Korverchenko. Time to do a bit more yelling…

Colby marched into the tech room. "Mick?"

Micky Cox spun around in a chair to face his boss, a serious look on his face. "Whoever's working this game Col, they've got some bloody good hardware, and a bleeding' degree level knowledge of coding. They've embedded the game into our intranet so it looks like it coming from one of our own damn servers."

"How in the _hell _could they do that?"

Amita turned and looked at the big man. "Theoretically, they shouldn't be able to at all. Intranets are supposed to be closed systems. They shouldn't be able to access them from outside the building."

"So what are you saying here? That someone _inside_ the FBI is running that game?"

Micky frowned. "If you pushed me, I'd have to say yes, mate." He looked at Amita, who nodded in agreement.

"Micky's right. Unless we're dealing with some seriously high-tech criminals, there should be no way they could gain access to a closed system from the outside. I've checked the original email that was sent to Don's machine and that was pinged through dozens of servers all over the world. Mostly eastern Europe and Russia, but it did route through China, Norway, London, Washington, Baltimore, San Francisco and about three IP addresses in the LA area before it got to Don's account. But the game?" Amita shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense. I'm checking the embedded coding to see if there's any way they could have uploaded it from an external source, but so far, everything's pointing to it being internal. Nothing's been hacked in. There may be a back door I haven't found yet, though." Amita looked apologetically at Colby. "Colby? Is Alan okay?"

Colby gave her a reassuring smile. "He's just fine, honey. But I'm guessin' he could do with some help redecorating when all this is over! And the front yard's gonna need a whole heap of landscaping to put it right! Seriously, Amita, the only casualty was the mailbox."

Amita gave Colby a small smile, but the big man could see that the smile didn't go past her lips and her eyes were still filled with concern. He crouched by her chair and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Listen to me. I promise you sweetie, I _swear _on my life I'm gonna do whatever it damn well takes to find these bastards before anyone else gets hurt, okay? So don't worry. You're safe here." He stood up. "But I need you to focus on this, Amita. I need to know if this is coming from inside or if there's _any _way at all that they could be accessing our systems from the outside." Colby turned to Micky. "Dude, call Matt in. There's nobody in this entire office who knows the system better than he does. The guy's an ex hacker himself. If anyone's kicking at our virtual doors, he'll be able to spot the signs."

"We ain't gonna turn any extra help away, boss, that's for damn sure." Micky winked reassuringly at Amita. "And you're right, nobody knows this system better than him. I'll give him a bell and get him in right now."

David had joined Colby in the room and frowned deeply. "Col? A word?" He nodded and the two men moved back out of the room. David tried to think clearly, but the information he had just heard sent his mind spinning in different directions. "Col, if what Amita and Micky are saying is right, then someone _inside _the FBI is involved."

Colby's expression was unreadable. "I don't wanna think that just yet bud, but…" Colby sighed. "Yeah, it's possible. We need to check out if anyone has any flags up next to their names, David. Ya know. Anyone with debts, about to lose their house, can't afford to keep up with medical bills for a loved one, that kinda thing. And also… oh man, I don't believe I'm goin' down this fuckin' road again…" Colby stopped and covered his eyes with a shaking hand.

David frowned. "Col? You okay, brother?"

Colby looked up at his friend. "I _hate _that we're right back here again, man! I _hate_ it!"

David could see the emotional conflict tearing his friend apart. Colby had never really talked about what had happened all those years ago, but David knew that his friend had never forgiven himself for lying to his friends for two years. Both Don and David knew that the man was one of the finest undercover agents the Bureau had, but the sheer complexity of Colby's past as a spy still remained shrouded in secrecy. Even David didn't know everything – but he _did _know how much it had hurt his friend and continued to do so even today. He squeezed his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "Col, I need you focused, man. I need you to tell me what to do next…"

Colby looked into his partner's gentle brown eyes – eyes that were full of forgiveness and friendship. He knew that David had forgiven him for what happened years ago. If only he could forgive himself…

He took a shaking breath and composed himself. "If anyone's had those kinda problems suddenly go away, then they could be beholding to some real nasty people. If they've gotten to someone in the FBI, they may be forcing them to do this, ya know? Remember how Koverchenkov operated last time?" David nodded. "Holding families hostage, that kinda thing. Trouble is, we're against the clock this time. And we get it wrong, a lotta people are gonna die."

"Col, we've been in tighter spots, bud."

"Yeah, I know, but this is different, man." Colby sighed and frowned deeply. "Anyone noticeably absent today?"

"What, from the office?"

"Yeah. If it is internal, then it's gotta be someone close. Someone who can keep an eye on how we're responding. Remember last time? He embedded that line of code saying 'We're waiting for you'. At the warehouse?"

David nodded and looked around the Bullpen. This whole thing twisted him up inside. He had another brief flashback to that dreadful day when he thought that the man standing next to him – his best friend and partner - was a traitor. To think that someone else in the department was acting against them, even if it was under duress, made his skin crawl. "Apart from Nikki and Matt, nope. Everyone else's in."

"Okay." Colby turned abruptly and walked back into the tech room. "Any luck with Matt, Mick?"

"Voicemail. I'll try again in a minute."

Colby frowned. "Voicemail? Really?"

"Yeah, but it is his day off, mate. I wouldn't read too much into that. Guy's probably just off doing whatever it is Matt does when he's not here."

A tiny alarm bell jangled in the back of Colby's mind… "Mick, I need you to do me a favour."

"Whatever you need, boss." Micky's usual jovial, frivolous nature was well and truly parked and his ice-blue eyes were deadly serious. Colby indicated to David and his friend softly closed the door. The four friends were cut off from prying ears and eyes – just in case. Before he started speaking, he glanced back over to David – a questioning look, asking for his friend's approval and validation for what he was about to do. David gave his friend a tiny nod, the approval Colby had to have… Colby swallowed, took a breath and turned back to the two seated technical experts. "What I'm gonna ask you guys to do isn't nice, probably isn't morally right and it sure as hell ain't usual protocol. Micky, Amita, I'm sorry about this, but I need you to do a scan of all the computers in the Bullpen. I also need you to access everyone's personal files and go through them with a fine toothed comb. Can you do that without being traced?"

Micky glanced at Amita and she nodded. "Do-able. What are we looking for?"

David stepped forward. "Anything that doesn't look _right_, Micky."

Amita frowned. "There is another possibility, David. It could be that if it is an internal hack, it's being uploaded from a dongle."

David frowned. "A what?"

Colby looked at his friend with a look of total exasperation on his face. "Man, you have _gotta _start reading the technology pages rather than just the damn style pages, dude, seriously! A dongle. Ya know, a flash drive? External hardware? Bolt ons?" Colby frowned. "Okay, I get that. But how the hell is whoever's planting the bombs getting the information on what squares Don plays?"

"He could be waiting for a message of some kind?" Amita stared at the screen. "Perhaps as soon as Don plays the square, then if there _is _someone on the inside, they send them a message?"

"You mean like playing chess with someone when they're on the other side of the world? Yeah, I see how that could work." Micky nodded. "Thing is though, everyone in here's vetted up to the eyeballs, Col. You know how the CI team works, mate, you're CI yourself!"

"Mick, I know how counter intelligence works, buddy. And I know all too well how it can _fail _to work as well. CI isn't infallible, no matter what Steve likes to think." Steve Parker was head of the FBI's Counter Intelligence unit and an old and trusted friend. The two men went all the way back to Ranger training, and if there was anyone who could 'think sideways' as the Brits liked to call it, then it was Steve Parker.

Colby looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, Micky, you could be on to something there, dude…I…yeah. I need to speak to Steve…and, to someone else…" Colby turned and without another word, started to walk out of the tech room. As he reached the doorway he stopped and turned, a serious look filling his green eyes. "In the meantime, start running your own checks, okay? And Mick? Keep 'em under the radar, copy?"

"Copy that, boss." Micky nodded curtly and turned back to his computer screen. As Colby and David left the room the Englishman glanced across at Amita. "You okay doing this, Amita?"

The dark-haired woman looked decidedly uneasy, but Micky knew through experience that underneath the gentle, sweet nature of the woman was a streak of pure steel that had got her through some very tight situations in the past. Amita Ramanujan was a tough little lady – a lot tougher than people gave her credit for. But she looked decidedly uncomfortable with Colby's request to start investigating into the backgrounds of what were supposed to be trusted FBI agents…"I…" She glanced at Micky. "It's not something I enjoy doing, no."

"But you understand _why _we're doing this, right?"

Amita nodded. "That doesn't make it okay, Micky."

"It makes it necessary, Amita."

"I know. It's just…"

"What?"

Amita turned and looked at Micky. "It's just bringing back some bad memories, that's all. Especially as it's Colby asking me to do it."

Micky frowned, but there was a look of sympathetic understanding in his eyes. "Then think how _he's _feelin' about having to ask, sweetie."

Amita slowly nodded. No matter how tough it was for them, it was even harder for Colby to have to ask them to do what he swore he'd never do again – spy on his friends and colleagues.

And it was especially hard for Don right now, as there were only four minutes to go before another square had to be played…

33333333

Don found that special, silent place he went to when all around him was a maelstrom of chaos, noise and violence. He closed his eyes and let the roar of activity around him flow away, like the tide drifting out on a silent shoreline. Everyone knew their jobs – they knew what they had to do. Right now, there was nothing he could add to the situation that would change anything. He simply had to wait.

He sat in the middle of a mental web, like a spider waiting for that vibration on a gossamer-thin thread to tell him that his prey had come within reach. He was blind, reliant on others to bring him the information he needed to make the next decision. It was the worst part of being the SAIC of this rapidly expanding Violent Crimes Unit, and the hardest part of his job. He sometimes missed the old days on fugitive recovery. Simpler times. When all you had to worry about was catching your man. There were no politics, no tactics, nobody trying to cover their own ass and dump you in the crap in the process. Just you, the daily Bolos, the open road and those few adrenaline-filled seconds when you caught up with your target. Now his life was complicated beyond belief in comparison. Complications that, right now, could get a lot of people hurt, unless he made exactly the right decisions.

Don's team had a reputation as the best in the FBI, and the Deputy Director had made no secret that he regarded Eppes as the _very _Special Agent In Charge of a modern-day 'Untouchables'. But sometimes, the alienation, the loneliness of command, the sense of detachment left him feeling adrift and almost helpless…

The gentle weight of a kind hand being placed upon his shoulder snapped him back to the here and now, reminding him that no matter how detached he felt, he was _never _alone...

He turned and looked into a pair of kindly brown eyes he knew and trusted implicitly. David gave him a little quizzical look. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"Don, we've got three minutes…"

"I know."

"Colby's…"

"…Doing what Colby does best, David. Trust him."

"I do bud, but he's got that look in his eyes, man, ya know, that really _scary_ look he gets sometimes…"

"Good." A granite-hard caste flashed into Don's normally placid eyes. "That means he's exactly in the headspace I want him to be, bud."

"Don?" Charlie's voice grabbed both the men's attention. Don could hear the alarm in his tone. "I'm trying to anticipate the bomber's next move, but we're running out of time! My algorithm's gonna take at least another hour, maybe two to run its course and even then I don't know if I've managed to attribute values to all the possible variables…"

"So we're back to guessing again for this one, huh? Charlie, that didn't go too well last time…" Don was already standing at the computer keyboard, frowning up at the giant Minesweeper game that dominated the plasma screen in the war room. They had fifty-eight seconds left…

"Don, there's nothing more I can do! I'm sorry, but you can't rush this! I wish I could make it go faster, I really do, but…" The rising panic gave Charlie's voice a sharpness to it that was out of character for the normally easy-going professor. Don laid a hand on his brother's shoulder in reassurance.

"C'mon Chuck, I'm not blaming you, buddy! Ease up, okay? We just…" Don sighed. "We just have to do the best we can." He turned back to the board. Thirty one seconds… "Okay then. Anyone got any suggestions that don't involve eeny meeny miney mo?"

Twenty seven…

"Any square, Don." Charlie ran a hand through his wild curls and gave the board a despairing look. "Seriously. It doesn't matter which square you choose…except those. Don't pick any of those." He pointed at a cluster of squares next to an exposed one that contained the number '4'. "There's four bombs around that square, that is, um, _if_ he was playing fair there'd be four bombs there…"

Twenty one…

"Okay." Don focused his attention on the board once again, discounting the squares closest to the four. "What about this section here?" He pointed to a group of unexposed squares in the bottom left hand corner.

David's soft voice offered precious little reassurance. "Don, the guy isn't playing fair. It's like Charlie said. It doesn't really matter _which _square you play. We're blind, bud."

Twelve seconds…

Don could feel his guts twisting up inside once again. Son of a BITCH! He knew that, no matter which square he chose, the odds were stacked against them because whoever was behind this sick, twisted little game would make the decision as to whether there was a bomb there or not. They had no control over this process – the bomber did. And that made Don more angry than he could put into words. He wanted to slam both fists into the keyboard, shattering the brittle plastic. His nails dug into the palms of his hands as his fists tightened. The lines on his forehead deepened and the vein in the middle of his forehead started to throb…

Six seconds, five…four…three…

"DAMN IT!" Don moved the cursor randomly over the game and clicked the mouse…

3333333

Colby ducked into the locker room and shut the door. The cool, dark silence was a welcome and peaceful oasis, and he needed privacy for this phone call. Don had let him off the leash, and it was time to use every weapon in his arsenal, no matter how…_unorthodox_…

He flipped his phone open and dialled, waiting for that voice he knew so well…

"_Colby John Granger, do you have ANY fuckin' idea what time it is over here?"_

"Hey baby. Did I wake you?" A small smile flickered across his lips as he heard the annoyance in Diane Armstrong's voice. He missed her so damn much when she was away, and the sound of her voice was the reassurance he needed right now.

"_You know full well you did, you bugger!" _The sharp tone of her voice couldn't disguise completely the underlying message in her words – _I miss you too…_ "_Tell me you didn't phone me up at this ungodly bloody hour just to tell me that you've overwatered my Peace Lily again! So? What's up?"_

He let out a little chuckle. "Your Peace Lily's fine, babe. But we have a problem…" Colby spent the next few minutes bringing Diane up to speed. "Listen, we know the Russians were operating out of Europe way before they moved their crew over here. And I know for a fact that both Six and British Military Intelligence have been keeping tabs on these sons of bitches for years. You guys have way more intel on them than we have. And I _also _know for sure you have some people on the inside of the Russian mob right now, don't you?"

"_I can neither confirm nor deny any operational details or protocol that's in play at this time."_

"So that's a yes, then."

"_Wadda you think? But contact is limited, Col. I can't just go ringing them up and saying hey guys, fancy blowing your cover wide open by using an unsecured line or unscheduled dead drop to give me some intel? That could get them killed, babe. You know the game."_

"Sweetheart, I get that. But we're potentially looking at a _lot _of bodies unless we stop these bastards. Bodies of people we know and care about, Dee."

"_What do you need?"_

"Everything, baby. Every damn thing I can get my hands on. I need a weak link, Dee. A name, anything I can use as leverage. I wanna know who I can get _real _nasty with to get some fuckin' answers. David's collating everything we have, but I'm guessing it's not the same as everything _you _have access to, ya know?"

"_Okay. I'll start waking people up. How long do we have until Don has to play the next square?"_

Colby glanced at his watch. "He's just played a square a coupla minutes ago. We got just under an hour."

"_I'll call you in 30 minutes." _There was a pause. "_Colby?"_

"Yeah?"

"_Be careful."_

"Don't worry, baby. I will be."

"_No you won't. You'll go in all guns blazing like you always do!"_

"What, you want maybe I should send them an RSVP?"

Colby heard that playful laugh he loved so much - a laugh that was hardened with a vicious snarl that spoke of a woman who understood that, in this case, all bets were _off_…

_"Ah, HELL no! Lock and load, baby. Lock and** fuckin' load**…"_

A slow, dangerous smile spread over Colby's lips. It was times like this that reminded him of those heart-pounding, adrenaline-fuelled black ops he'd been a part of for so many years. Operations that had quickly opened his naïve eyes to the callousness and viciousness of his enemies. It was something he'd learned from working with the Brits for so long. While everyone was talking about the 'honour of battle' and conventions and the morality of war, there were those who knew that in the modern world, there was no morality, no conventions and sure as hell no damn _honour_ in a battle like this.

They were fighting an enemy who wouldn't think twice about slaughtering entire families just because they 'got in the way'. He'd seen women beheaded for simply singing and dancing at a wedding. He'd seen the callousness and the resulting slaughter of innocents when two families went to war with one another over an imagined slight or insult that happened generations in the past. He would never forget the stench of rotting flesh when he walked into a bombed out house filled with four generations of a family massacred for simply having the wrong name. He remembered the taste of vomit in his mouth as he'd thrown his guts up outside, and watching a member of the SAS on his team sit down slowly in the dirt and blood, tears streaming down his face as the full horror of what they'd seen hit them…

Throw in drugs, guns and corruption and you had all the makings of a special circle of Hell that tainted everyone it touched.

Even the good guys.

His experiences had changed him. It had changed them all. After years of seeing the very worst that humanity could do to itself, he had emerged as a very different person from the young soldier who had graduated from Ranger training top of his class – a man the Army had marked as someone uniquely capable and talented in covert ops. His experiences had reinforced his already deeply moral outlook on life – and had also given him the unique understanding that to achieve your outcome sometimes, just sometimes, you had to think like your enemy. You had to understand that they didn't think like 'normal' people. That to them, life was cheap to the point of valueless. But he also learned one very important lesson – people like that placed a disproportionately high value on their _own _lives. And that made them vulnerable. Every man, no matter how amoral, how corrupted, how evil, had a weak spot. You just had to find it, push the knife in and _twist_…

There was NO WAY Colby was going to let the kind of evil he'd seen in those lawless, violent distant lands happen on the streets of LA. He may not have been able to stop it from happening in Afghanistan and Kosovo, but he was _damned _if he was going to let it happen here! He knew that the enemy they were up against was contemptuous of the values of the society they had moved into. They didn't care that this was LA. They were still stuck in that violent, disgusting and lawless mindset that inevitably led to the deaths of innocents. That left children orphaned. That left friends maimed and killed, and passers by caught up in carnage that was not of their making.

There were _no_ rules in this particularly vicious, amoral and dangerous game.

_And _'_no rules_'_ is how Colby liked it…_

333333333

The square came up blank.

As one, Don, David and Charlie let out a collective sigh of relief. Don sat down slowly on the edge of the table to try and disguise the fact that his legs were threatening to give way from underneath him. David ran a shaking hand over his face and puffed out his cheeks. Charlie stared blankly at the board as the countdown started once again and, curls bobbing wildly, suddenly spun back to his equations and started working furiously once again, focused on the math in front of him and nothing else.

A ping grabbed their attention once again as a message bubble popped up over the game grid. Don looked up and frowned. "What the…" He glanced over at David, who shook his head. "Get The tech boys on this NOW. I wanna know exactly where this is coming from!" David nodded and shot out of the war room, sprinting towards the tech room where Micky and Amita were working.

Don looked at his brother. Charlie's eyes were wide and he swallowed nervously. He glanced over to the doorway, which was filled with the powerful frame of Colby Granger. Colby's green eyes narrowed as he saw the message bubble on the board. "Don?"

Don turned to his friend. "This son of a bitch is playing with us, Col…"

"What's the message?"

Don turned back to the screen and clicked on the message bubble…

'_Well played, Don, well played! I wonder, though, how long your luck will hold? By the way, how's your dad? Don't think that any of you are safe, my friend. Even hiding like frightened children in your oh-so-secure FBI offices, I can get to you whenever I want._

_I'm waiting for you to make the next move, Don. _

_I'm waiting for YOU...'_

_**TBC…**_


End file.
